


I'll be your family

by BehindBrokenWindows



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fix-It, Healing, Marriage, Post-Episode: s08e03 The Long Night, strong post battle reactions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 15:52:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19154182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BehindBrokenWindows/pseuds/BehindBrokenWindows
Summary: The long night leaves lasting impressions on all, but something good always seems to come with the bad.





	I'll be your family

**Author's Note:**

> So there are both GOT and ASOIAF elements in this, because I'm a booklover and needed to fix the show, for obvious reasons. This happens just after 803, so obviously it's set in the show world, but I've kept the character's looks from the books, and there are also some small mentions here and there of book!canon and insignificant details from the show I've just changed.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

The silence was eerie, unnatural. After the raging, roaring, deafening madness of battle, the silence was too still, too loud, too thick, thick enough to settle in throats and choke the breath out of living men. And still, everything was burning. Even after the pale dragon had died, the one whose fire was now blue as ice, everything was burning; muscles, bodies, buildings, eyes hot and stinging. And the silence pressed ever on, lasting and lasting until it felt like a physical force settling on trembling shoulders.

Someone sobbed and Jaime startled awake as if from a nightmare. His eyes met Brienne’s as if across an ocean, as if he was standing on one side of the world, and she on the other, the distance was just as unsurmountable. In the small light of the torch on the wall he could see that her eyes were wide. He wanted to reach out, to _feel_ her, if just to make sure that he was truly still alive.

It seemed to last a thousand years, or a moment, that look that passed between them, and he was sure nothing else could’ve kept him standing, swaying, sword hanging limp at his side, useless. Then she moved, pushed herself from the wall, eyes going glassy as she swayed, and she went toward him, and he knew that if she’d been capable, she would’ve run, but she couldn’t. She simply staggered her way toward him, past him, and fell to her knees in front of her young squire, Podrick Payne.

He sobbed again, as she folded him into her large frame and pressed her cheek against the top of his head. Her eyes were leaking. Her ruined cheek was wet with tears, yet she wasn’t crying. She closed her eyes and more liquid fell down her cheek, and Jaime couldn’t stand anymore. His sword clattered to the ground and the sharp noise seemed to cut into the very fabric of the night, tearing it apart. He didn’t sit, as much as crumble to the ground with a mighty crash as his body betrayed him.

He didn’t know how long they sat there, but it seemed to grow lighter, as if the sun hadn’t exhausted all its fire quite yet, though Jaime had almost expected the dragons to have used it all up during the night.

Brienne was stroking Podrick’s cheek with her gloved fingers. They were still clutched in each other’s arms and Jaime thought they’d never let go again. _Gods, she is young_ , he thought as he looked at her, _and yet so old_. Had she reached her twentieth year? He couldn’t remember, but looking at her made him feel the aching in his bones more than that in his tired muscles. To imagine the responsibilities she had taken upon herself, the way she had gone against the world, fought and fought her entire life, fought everyone who had mocked her and an army of dead as well, and here she was, victorious, never thinking of herself but of her young squire, who she’d taken on, who was almost like a child of hers now, it was humbling, and it made him proud.

He could not stay away, then, and without thought or plan, he dragged himself the few feet toward them, the two who had gone into this war as children of summer, and who had come out of it years older, he brought his arms around them, shaking as he was, hoping that they could give him strength. And for that, too, he pressed his lips to Brienne’s filthy hair, helm forgotten by her side, and he pressed his good arm tighter around the boy despite his protesting muscles. The boy tilted his head to the side until it was cradled between Brienne’s strong shoulder and Jaime’s own breast, and in that way they remained until the dawn refused to be ignored any longer.

*

 _Burn the dead, burn the dead, burn the dead. The dead must burn_ , but the task was left to the ones who hadn’t fought. They, like all the other soldiers, like Jon Snow by the pale dragon and Samwell Tarly almost buried in a heap of bodies, like the Hound, fierce, burned, frantic, they were ushered into the castle. Brienne had wanted to help – of course she had – said she could load dead unto carts, but her offer had been refused and she was swaying on her feet. She and Pod supported each other toward their small chamber, which had been spared the massacre other parts of the castle had suffered, and Jaime was trailing behind them, deaf, unseeing, unthinking. It was his room too, of course. No one else had wanted him, and he knew Brienne, had travelled with her, suffered with her before. With so many refugees, there was nothing else to do but put as many people into every room as they could. Theirs was a small room, and it could house no more than the three of them, and for that he was thankful.

He started to unbuckle his own armour slowly, mindlessly, staring into nothingness as his sole hand worked the buckles. Brienne and Pod were helping each other, muttering. He didn’t hear them, he didn’t see them. It wasn’t before he removed his gorget that it happened – something wet and cold trailing down and down like a river against his skin. Melted snow? Blood? Undead flesh. Or something – gore, mud, what one should expect after a battle, and yet. His throat constricted and he heaved for breath. Then his fingers started scrambling in terror, fighting with the buckle of his breastplate, tugging and yanking and then simply shaking it in terror as he tried to free himself of the armour that felt like it was strangling him, closing like a fist of steel around his ribcage, around his useless right hand, cutting into his throat – and his breath was rasping, wheezing, terrible. And he was using his right hand now, too, cutting away at the buckle with the dragonglass dagger they’d fashioned for him.

Someone shouted, someone wrenched his arm from his own chest and then his arm pressed against something solid, and he was trapped in an unbreakable hold as the tightness around his wrist eased and the straps of the dagger dragged against his black, frozen, ruined wrist.

He knew that he was shaking, he knew that he couldn’t see for the tears in his eyes, and he thought he was speaking, or shouting, or sobbing, but the noises kept stumbling in his throat, choking him until his lungs burned for air and he roared – 

Then there were hands on his face, thumbs stroking wetness from his cheeks and soothing, repetitive sound in his ear. And something wet was on his chest again, dragging downward in firm strokes, cleaning him of dead men’s skin and whatever else covered him.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, yet not quite certain what he was sorry for, but there was fresh blood on Brienne’s scarred cheek and still she was cleaning him, like she had so many times before when he thought he was dying.

He blinked several times, and it was like waking from a dream. He looked around and saw Podrick on a chair, some woman examining his wounds. How long she’d been there, Jaime didn’t know. He hadn’t noticed her enter at all.

He turned his head again, and found Brienne already studying him, though her hand was still washing his neck and shoulder. He put his hand over the one she used to hold the rag, and took it from her, dipped it in the bowl of water at their side, and squeezed it before bringing it to her bloody cheek.

“Did I do this?” he asked, yet he knew the answer even before she nodded. He looked down at his naked stump, black and blue and yellow and red. He couldn’t feel anything.

“Pod removed it,” she whispered. _While I had to hold you down_ , she didn’t say. He looked away, and let his hand fall into his lap.

The woman looked at Jaime next, contemplating his stump for a long while. She advised him to let it heal in peace; let the golden hand and the dragonglass dagger lay for the time being, and wrap it up nicely in wool when out of doors, or they might soon need to take more. He growled at her then, but it felt weak.

She left after a quick examination of Brienne, and deemed none of their injuries grave enough to take her attention away from people who might need it more.

Brienne insisted Jaime sleep in the bed with Pod, and took his customary cot; not half so soft, but Jaime needed the softness more that she did, and he was too tired to argue. He feared sleeping, feared the dreams, but there was no need. He was too tired, even to dream. So were they all, but the dreams would come later, he knew.

*

Podrick was fetched in the morning, by some other young people, and he joined them for breakfast. Jaime watched him walk out of the room with envy. Oh, what he would do for a nice change of clean clothes.

Although he wanted to, he didn’t return to sleep after the boy left, but sat up in bed. He glanced over at Brienne who was standing with her back to him. He caught the sight of her naked, wide, muscled back before she slipped into a shirt. Even in the scant light he could clearly see her ribs as she stretched, and her spine seemed to protrude from her skin. How could she be so thin, yet so densely muscled? She was as wide as him. He cleared his throat to catch her attention. She was lacing up her breeches as she turned to him, and he let his eyes linger on her deft fingers for only a moment before skidding away.

“Do you have a spare shift? I’m afraid my clothing is all soiled, and I’d appreciate something clean.” She moved before he finished speaking and brought him a clean shirt and breeches. They fit very nicely. “Good thing you’re as big as I am, wench,” he muttered with the ghost of a smile. She caught his expression and her eyes smiled. She knew that he wasn’t mocking her, he had only admiration for her now, and the sight of her strength did strange things to him.

They walked together to the great hall, which was so crowded people were sitting on the floor or leaning against the walls as they ate. Brienne had insisted he take her cloak, which he did, because she had other warm clothes, she said, and he didn’t. When they’d gotten each their bowl of stew and dark bread, Brienne caught Pod’s eye in the crowd, nodded, and went the other way. The right corner behind the high table was still empty, and that’s where they settled, bowls cradled on their crossed legs. They ate slowly, in silence. It didn’t taste much, but it was warm and it stopped the growling in Jaime’s stomach. He pressed the bowl against his chest with his right arm and felt the heat of the food seep into his chest comfortably. Their knees were touching, and there was warmth there, too.

After a little while a shadow came over them, and Jaime looked up just as Lady Stark sunk to the floor in front of them.

“I know that you want to help, and I appreciate it,” she said, looking at Brienne, “but our concern is first to heal and regain our strength. We need our wits about us, the fighting is not yet done.” _But what can an army of Golden sellswords be, to the terror of the dead?_ Jaime thought to himself. Facing the living, now, surely would feel like facing an army of the too old and the too young, compared to what they had experienced. “We light the pyres as darkness falls; you must inform the rest of your soldiers, I’m sure they’d like to be there. Before then, you rest, and after too.” Brienne nodded solemnly. “Tomorrow there will be weddings, just after breakfast. We’ve had so many appeals we decided it best to put them all on the same day, one after the other. If you could spread the word of that too – I’m sure there are still more who wish for a ceremony, and should anyone keep the old gods, they might go to the godswood instead.” Brienne nodded with the flicker of a smile, and Lady Stark gently caressed her filthy hair before leaving them alone with their silence.

On their way out Brienne talked to her soldiers – the ones who were there – and told them to spread the word. Then they returned to their room, empty still. Podrick had most likely joined his new friends in the forge, and both Brienne and Jaime were happy for him.

“How many do you think will marry tomorrow?” Jaime asked with a chuckle as they sat on the edge of the bed together.

“I don’t know.” She looked at him, her ruined cheek present to him, almost crying out for his attention, but he looked past it. Her nose was even more crooked now than it was the first time he’d met her, her freckles were mingling with specks of dirt he hadn’t managed to removed the night before, her wide mouth was pale and bloodless, and her eyes were shining like the sea on a cloudless day. He could see from the look on her face that she’d caught him examining her. “I can’t believe she let you go willingly. Did you leave without telling her?” Brienne’s hair was longer than it had been, too, and filthy, and for all that Jaime had never seen her so pretty.

“No. She threatened to have the Mountain kill me.” There was no need to ask who she was talking about. They hadn’t truly talked of his appearance in the north, yet he had known they would have to.

“And you left anyway.” Jaime nodded.

“It is as I told Lady Stark when I arrived; she is not the only one who has suffered under Cersei’s abuse. I have wanted to leave for a long while… longer than I often admit to myself, yet… where would I go?” _To you, had I thought you’d welcome me._

“And where _will_ you go, once the war is over?” Brienne asked. He knew it was a loaded question. What would he do? Where did his loyalties lie?

“I’m the rightful heir to Casterly Rock. By all rights I should be named Lord of the Rock and Warden of the West, though I don’t think our Dragon Queen will stand for it. It will probably go to Tyrion, and what do I have then? What good is a poor knight with no sword-hand?”

“She will strip you of titles?”

“It has been hinted at. I’ll give them up in exchange for a pardon.” Brienne nodded. “I did kill her father, though by all accounts he wasn’t a good man.” Brienne sat in silence and contemplated him for a long while, as if weighing something.

“We could marry, tomorrow,” she said at last, and he was too stunned to form an answer. He saw her resolve tremble, but she said nothing for a long while. “We can go to Tarth, and I’ll finally take my place at my father’s table. When he dies I will take his place as the Evenstar and though you’ll be the Lord of Tarth, I will be their liege. Your function would be... as my husband only.” She trailed off shyly, as if surprised at herself for having spoken so freely. Jaime felt suddenly incredibly warm, and there was a strange tingling in his fingers and a coiling in his belly.

“I don’t have anything to offer but myself.”

“I don’t need anything – except an heir, I suppose. We wouldn’t have to… lie together except for that purpose, I know what I – ” she halted again, though he thought he could hear the words; I know what I look like.

“None of that,” he whispered, feeling again like he was choking. He reached out across his own body and took Brienne’s left hand in his. “You deserve someone who will love you in any way you want. And that I will, if you’ll have me.” She was stunned now too, uncertain even in the flicker of happiness in her eyes. “I’ve never wanted to marry, I’d never thought –” but he didn’t want to talk of Cersei. “I don’t want you to marry me if you can’t love me, Brienne. After a lifetime of… I can’t be with someone who doesn’t feel for me like I do for them, and Brienne, I love you.”

She met his gaze, and he felt like a pitiful sight, open and vulnerable as he admitted his weakness. But her eyes were steady and kind, they were honest too, and vulnerable.

“And you think I would ever marry someone I did not love, and who could not love me for what I am?” He shook his head. “Jaime, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” he whispered, and squeezed her hand harder, which she returned just the same with the flicker of a smile on her face, and he felt one creep onto his lips too, and he wanted to laugh.

They slept in their shift on opposite sides of the bed, until Podrick fetched them for the burning, and they attended like all the others. Jaime couldn’t imagine a single face of the onlookers unstained by tears. His own cheeks were wet and cold, although he had not lost someone dear to him.

*

The baths were crowded that evening, but Jaime didn’t care; he would not attend his own wedding covered in filth. He washed thoroughly, methodically, made sure that every part of him was scrubbed pink. He took special care between his legs; it would not do to be filthy there especially, not on his wedding night.

When he was almost done, young Podrick sat down in the large bath by his side. His approach had been muffled by the talking of the other men and Jaime startled to see him. He’d grown oddly fond of the boy after having shared chambers since his arrival at Winterfell, and Brienne’s love for him only encouraged Jaime’s warm feelings; her judgement he would never doubt.

“I – I can scrub your back, Ser Jaime, i-if you want. And your other arm.” He’d gotten better since they first met – Podrick hadn’t been able to look him in the eye at first, and had stuttered something terribly. He was smiling now, and it sounded almost like he stuttered only out of habit. “My lady – S-ser Brienne told me. About tomorrow.” The fond look on the boy’s face as he spoke Brienne’s name was even more testament to his character. Jaime smiled.

He let the boy scrub his back and left arm, joking and jesting all the way, and scrubbed the boy’s back in return when he was done, asking him if _he_ had any intentions to marry on the morrow. The boy blushed crimson and shook his head ferociously.

“I’m glad. T-that you’re to m-marry,” Podrick whispered just as Jaime was about to leave the water. He could only squeeze the boy’s shoulder before he left. The comment had shaken him more profoundly than he’d like to admit. Podrick was such a sweet boy, and so protective of Brienne; that he was glad of their coming union was not something he’d expected, although the lad had treated him kindly. If he thought they were a fine match, if he thought Jaime might not be too little, too much, too broken, too undeserving… perhaps there was hope for him after all.

The evening meal was a sombre affair, and people went early to their bed and their grief. Brienne and Podrick shared the bed that night, though Jaime wished he could be there too – not to lie with her, not yet, but to hold her and share her warmth.

*

They’d found him a red jerkin. It wasn’t truly the Lannister crimson, but it was as close as they could get. There was also a cream-coloured shirt that would have to pass for gold, and soft brown breeches. He didn’t quite know who ‘they’ were, nor whose clothing it had been, though he highly doubted it was Ned Stark’s old things. The clothing fit well, however, and it was clean. Podrick helped him with the fastenings as Brienne had muttered something indistinguishable about ‘Lady Sansa’ and left in a hurry.

Once he was dressed, Podrick led him to the small sept that had been built for Lady Catlyn’s benefit when she married her Northern Lord, and he was seated in the very front together with a gathering of other men, some dressed as he; humbly but in clean clothing, and others wore their finery.

The sept quickly filled with chattering people, and Jaime retreated into his own mind, with no one to talk with, and almost last in the line of grooms. Jaime had no intention of watching the long proceedings, unimportant as they were to him, yet when the youngest Stark girl joined the newly made Lord of Storm’s End, he was too surprised to think of anything else. There was no exchanging of cloaks – some drunkard commented loudly from the back that the young lady didn’t need the blacksmith’s protection, no matter how small she looked.

Jaime felt terribly old as he looked at her. He barely remembered the young girl from Winterfell all those years ago when they’d visited with King Robert; the girl who’d thrown food at her sister, the ‘little savage’, as Cersei had called her. The only thing Jaime could think now was that she was beautiful.

She wore a grey woolen dress with white and silver linings that shimmered in the candlelight, and the infamous small sword of hers hang from her hip to a wide, black leather belt. Her steps were soundless and her gait bold. She held her shoulders straight, head up with her eyes for none other than her soon to be Lord husband. Her face might be long, looking more like Jon Snow than her sister Sansa, and she wasn’t truly pretty, but the mischievous smile on her face and the glint in her eyes was truly captivating.

The ceremony was short, for a southern wedding, but they made their vows and left together to make room for the next couple. Jaime became increasingly nervous as the line of grooms became shorter and shorter, and his hand was clammy when the man before him rose, and took his place before the septon. Jaime felt blind and deaf and didn’t realise that it was his turn before someone behind him gave him a rough push on the shoulder. He stood on shaky legs and mounted the stairs already short of breath. He took his place, and had to force himself to look at where Brienne was emerging from the doors.

He hadn’t thought of what she might wear, but as she appeared in men’s garb, no one laughed and Jaime smiled at the sight. Had she brought the doublet with her all the way from Tarth? It was blue like her eyes, and the crest with the moon and sun of Tarth sat proudly on her chest. She only glanced at him from time to time as she walked through the sept alone, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Her hair was clean and brushed, and he imagined it was Brienne herself who’d let it fall over her face on the side of her scar. Her mouth was trembling, as if trying to form into a smile without her permission.

When she was finally beside him she looked at him with glassy eyes, and he took her hand in his for strength. Who benefited from it the most, he couldn’t tell, but Brienne finally let herself smile, and he grinned at the sight of her crooked teeth.

There were prayers and vows, and Jaime felt for the first time the importance of such a ceremony. It didn’t feel boring or unnecessary with Brienne at his side. She didn’t have a maiden’s cloak either, and he had nothing to replace it with, but he was glad. If anything, it was he coming under her protection. They had never been a conventionable pair, and he was glad to think that they never would be.

She squeezed his fingers meaningfully when the Septon stopped talking, and looked at him with such tender feeling he thought he would weep.

“With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my Lord and husband.” Her voice was small, only for him to hear, and it put tears in his eyes.

“With this kiss I pledge my love,” Jaime breathed, “and take you for my Lady and wife.” He stared at Brienne, and it seemed to him that they were entirely alone in the world as they moved closer. She pulled at his hand and he stepped toward her as he raised his golden hand to push the hair from her face. She tugged again on his hand, and at last he leaned up and pressed his lips against hers faintly. She pressed back, harder, and trembled.

“And so I declare you man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.” They pulled apart, man and wife, and Jaime was grinning widely. He heard nothing as they exited the sept, but saw smiling faces all along the gathering.

Out in the cold he could not stay separated from her. He turned to her again and walked into her open arms, embracing her with a ferocity that almost frightened him. But she held his as tightly, and he felt he had found his place. She pressed her lips to his brow and the tension seeped from his shoulders as he calmed in her arms. They couldn’t stay in the cold forever, so they hurried back to the castle and found seats for themselves in the great hall which was beginning to fill with people.

The feast lasted through the short day and long into the night. Jaime was careful with his drink, but felt dizzy all the same. He sat with Brienne at his side and Podrick across the table, and he could barely take his hand from hers, or her thigh, or the small of her back long enough to eat.

When the beddings began the young Lady Stark – no, Lady Baratheon – stood up and said that if anyone touched her or her husband she’d whistle and have her wolf rip their throat out, then her new husband scooped her up in his blacksmith’s arms to loud protests and angry wriggling, and they flew from the hall even before the roaring laughter had the chance to begin. Some left quietly, other couples had friends who insisted on the bedding ceremony. Brienne simply smiled shyly at Podrick and took Jaime’s hand in hers before leaving the hall quietly.

The walk through the castle was long, but Jaime didn’t mind. He enjoyed the shy, sideways glances from Brienne and the feeling of her calloused hand in his. When they finally reached the chamber, he was the one feeling bashful. His fingers trembled as he worked on the fastenings of her clothing, and he looked up at her through his lashes, half nervous, half mischievous, and said; “I’ve never slept with a knight before.” She chuckled – giggled! – and it was the most girlish sound he’d ever heard from her.

“No? Ser Loras was in your Kingsguard and he was a truly handsome man, are you certain that you never…” She trailed off and made that girlish sound again, as she leaned forward and hid her flushed face in his shoulder. He was overcome with happiness at that, even as he chuckled at her brave comment, and put his arms around her body and swayed. Gods, but he felt like a maid himself.

She pushed the jerkin from his shoulders then, and he helped her out of her doublet. He put his right arm around her shoulders and rose onto his toes to be of a proper height with her as he kissed her again, strong and full on the lips as he let his hand slide from her neck to her breast, fingering it gently atop her undershirt. She stiffened, but settled her hands on his hips and held him dearly as he made his touch more insistent, taking her nipple between his fingers and rolling it gently. She responded after a while by pressing ever so gently into his touch.

He dropped to his heels again, pulling her with him to keep their mouths pressed together as the kiss deepened, and let his hand fall from her breast to her hip where he began pulling the undershirt from her breeches. She helped him take it off her before flicking his over his head in one smooth movement, then they were pressed chest to chest, stomach to stomach, hip bones pressed against hip bones.

She pulled away from him then for a moment, and looked him over with shameful eyes, yet she couldn’t quite convince herself that she wasn’t allowed. He liked the way she looked at him, appreciatively, with a sliver of awe in her eyes. His thirty seventh nameday was approaching more quickly than he’d like to admit, yet he was still as strong and broad as he used to be. That, however, was not what she finally commented on.

“Your right arm is absurdly small.” He looked at it, smile falling, then suddenly burst into laughter.

“Well what do you expect, wench? I have no use of it these days.” She smiled a new, bold and playful smile at him then, but grew serious as she sat on the edge of the bed and pulled him toward her by his golden hand. She turned it palm up and found the straps that kept it on his arm, then undid them one by one meticulously. She set the hand aside and moved his scarred stump to press against her mutilated cheek. It was strangely poetic.

“I don’t like the golden one,” she said. “You’d do better with something more useful.”

“I’ll think of something.” She leaned in and for a moment he froze in surprise, then she pressed a gentle, innocent kiss to his belly and circled her heavy arms around his waist.

He stroked her good cheek with his thumb and stared at her again, incredulous. When had she stopped being so ugly in his eyes? “You’re beautiful,” he admitted. She smiled and shook her head, but didn’t seem wounded. “It doesn’t matter what _you_ think. If I say you’re beautiful, you are.” She pressed her entire, large face into his belly then, and he put his hand on the back of her head to hold her there for a few moments before he kneeled down in front of her, to be of a height with her again. He removed her shoes and caressed the untouched skin of her ankle, which made her smile and relax, before he put his fingers to the task of unlacing her breeches. He shuffled back a bit before he bid her stand up, then pushed the fabric from her hips slowly, revealing inch after inch of pale, freckled, and scarred skin. She was as hairy as he remembered from Harrenhal, but he didn’t care. He slid his hand from her hip down the length of her thigh, thickly corded with muscle which jumped at his touch, then he leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss against the inside of her thigh. When he looked up he trembled with the want to put his lips between her legs and taste her wetness, but he reined in his desire and let her escape beneath the furs of their bed.

He stood up as his hand went to his own breeches, and she averted her eyes as he pushed them down. “You’re allowed to look,” he told her, “encouraged, even.” He put his hand on himself when she returned her eyes to his body, and he felt as bashful as she looked. But she looked all the same, drank him in and seemed to appreciate it. Her eyes were large and innocent as she looked at his hardening cock, and she almost looked like she wanted to touch him, yet wasn’t brave enough. There was enough time for that sort of thing later.

“My Lady, may I join you?” She held the furs open for him and he clambered in to lay by her side. She pressed against him at once and kissed him again. Perhaps she had wanted this for as long as he had. He managed quite quickly to coax her into lying atop him as they continued kissing, and between the warmth of their bodies, the furs, and the hot water in the walls, they soon had to kick the furs aside. They kissed for a long good while, and Jaime felt like a boy again as he let his fingers caress her. The feeling of her ribs through her skin was a bit disconcerting, and the bones of her spine were just as bad. He vowed again to make sure she regained the weight she’d lost on her travels so to make sure she was as healthy as she could be.

But he let it go for now, and caressed the side of her behind, which made her hair stand on edge as she shivered.

When she felt calm and comfortable at last, he pulled away and looked at her. She spoke before he could. “I don’t think you should put a child in me quite yet. It would be better if we were home before… just to be safe.” He nodded his agreement.

“Are you ready?” he asked then, and it was her time to nod. “If you want you can… sit on me.” She blushed deeply as he said it and pulled away. “It might be more comfortable, and you would decide everything yourself. And should you be in pain…”

“No,” she breathed, “I don’t think I’m brave enough.” He snorted at that - the bloody woman had fought an army of dead people, and this was what she feared - but didn’t argue. She settled onto her back and he moved to lay between her legs, pressed together shyly. “Shouldn’t we perhaps blow out the candles?”

“No, I’d rather see you, if you don’t mind.” He slipped his hand between her thighs gently and probed them apart, then settled himself there with his elbows on each side of her head. Her arms were stiff at her sides and her legs were rigid and carefully not touching him. With clear intent he relaxed onto her until she held his entire weight. “Won’t you hold me?” he muttered against her cheek, and hesitant arms circled him again.

He put his fingers against his lips so she wouldn’t see what he was doing before putting his spit-wet hand against the head of his cock. “Tell me when it hurts, and I’ll be gentle,” he muttered against her lips before taking his cock in hand again to slide it along her opening. She stiffened and held her breath, and he had to push away his urge to simply pull her into his arms to comfort her; this was better done and over with, and he’d gentle her afterwards.

So instead of pulling away to comfort her, he pushed himself inside her at last, without complaint or gasp of pain. The way she clutched at him so tightly was more than he could take; overwhelmed he pressed his face into the pillow by her head and squeezed her with more force than he’d ever dared used with Cersei for fear of breaking her. Brienne held him just as hard as he trembled.

“Does it hurt?” he managed to ask, and she whispered no. Finally he began rocking his hip, in and out of her, feeling delirious as his cock slid inside her, so warm and wet, yet even here she was hard and strong, where Cersei had been soft, and even this pleased him.

She put her strong legs around him tentatively, and he groaned as he sunk deeper, harder, into her, and her breath hitched in her throat.

It didn’t last very long, he was far too overwhelmed to restrain himself, and he felt so good, her tentative touches made him ache with love for her. He’d just thought that he should rub at her nub of pleasure so that perhaps she might reach her peak as well, when he felt it coiling in his belly and had to pull out in a hurry and do the rest of the job with his hand as he groaned into her shoulder almost as if in pain – and it was, indeed one of the most difficult things he had done, pulling out of her then. They lay together in silence for a long while, sweaty bodies pressed together and Brienne seemed to have calmed again, as they regained their breath.

When he trusted his legs to hold him, he fetched a piece of cloth and wiped his seed from their bellies before returning to her side beneath the furs. He slid close and lay with his head atop her chest, listening to her heart beating within her.

“You weren’t hurt, truly?”

“No,” was her chuckled reply. Her fingers slid into his curls and the other hand reached for his arm to pull across her body. “I’ve always heard how it will hurt, how bloody and dirty it would be, but it wasn’t that at all. It was only nice.”

“It will be better for you, when you’ve gotten used to it. Next time I swear it will be all for your pleasure.”

“I’ve heard women seldom peak during their first time,” she said and shrugged. He looked at her incredulously, and she grinned with her crooked teeth all on display. “Ladies talk.” His chuckle turned into a growl as he playfully bit at her neck. “Little lion cub,” she whispered and thread her fingers through his hair. He looked up at her at that, affronted.

“You call me cub? Brienne, I’m almost twice your age!”

“And only a mediocre swordsman. Quite short and skinny too!” She laughed her ugly laugh as he growled at her and attacked. It didn’t take long before their wrestling turned into something quite different.

“I always said you’d want someone strong enough to hold you down,” Jaime quipped with that cutting smile. It had a more tender look to it now that it had years before. “I’m strong enough.” It wasn’t hardship for Brienne to then flip them around and keep him quite still, but he seemed to enjoy that too.

*

Already the next morning the Queen called for a meeting to plan the next step toward claiming her rightful place on the Iron Throne. Brienne was there, and Jaime too as his knowledge of the city defences and Cersei’s possible allies was of great value to them. But he had not agreed to help them without certain conditions.

“I won’t be there,” he said, and glanced toward Tyrion. “I will help you with the planning, but I will not take up arms against my own sister, it is too much to ask.” There was a bit of muttering but he ignored it. “Instead I would like to retreat to Tarth with my wife. This is not our war and you have officers enough.” More muttering this time, yet he went on stubbornly.

“And I have a request.” He glanced at Brienne, and she sent him a flicker of a smile. “Cersei is with child. As a reward for my kindness, I ask only that you let her live until she births. I believe that you will realise the justice of my request when the war is won and you stand victorious all because of what information I can provide you with. I know that she must die, but her child is an innocent. I’ve heard that you’re a champion of the innocent, You Grace.” He looked at Queen Daenerys and held her lilac gaze. He couldn’t look at her without seeing Rhaegar, and it pained him. He was certain that his request would be denied – he could almost hear her thoughts; _what about my brother and his children? They were innocent, yet they died terrible deaths._

“Your request is granted. If Queen Cersei can be taken alive without consequences, we shall keep her prisoner until she has the child. But – the child will foster with his uncle Lord Tyrion, whether he is in King’s Landing or Casterly Rock.” Jaime knew that his mouth hung open, yet he could not force himself to close it.

“Your Grace,” he muttered at last, fingers finding Brienne’s beside him, “thank you.” He was as stunned as he’d been the night before, when Brienne said she would not mind if the child were with them as their own on Tarth.

*

“But what do you _want_ to do?” Brienne asked Pod.

“I’m your squire, ser, I go where you go.”

“But I told you, you can do whatever you want now, even stay here, or return to your family!” Pod smiled shyly.

“I don’t have a f-family to go to. I’ll go with you, s-ser, unless you wouldn’t have me.” When she didn’t look convinced, Podrick smiled again, and put his arm around her in an embrace. “You can be my f-family, if you want.” When he pulled back there were tears in his eyes, and Brienne’s as well.

That night they all packed for their journey. The armies had dispatched a week ago and Brienne had wanted to leave before them, so they could travel the land without too much of a risk, but it had come to Jaime’s attention that he would not be allowed to leave before a while after the army. The trust they held for him, even now, was a frail thing.

Of course, it had been a difficult thing to convince Brienne to leave Winterfell at all, but the Lady Stark swore that she was safe at home now, and that Brienne’s vow to Lady Catelyn was more than fulfilled. The younger girl had a crucial part in their plan, and no one but herself could keep her safe. Brienne grudgingly agreed that there was nothing she could do.

They left early on the morrow to make as much use of the few hours of light as they could, and Lady Sansa was there to wish them a safe and swift journey. She embraced Brienne and kissed Podrick’s cheek before they got on their horses, then she bid Jaime take care, and waved them goodbye.

It was a long journey, by horse and by ship, but they had each other for company and safety, and who can curse a journey, when the destination is home?

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for this fandom, and I hope it went alright! This is my first time writing m/f, I hope that went alright as well! Feedback is greatly appreciated.
> 
> Thank you for reading, leave a kudos and a comment if you can and want,
> 
> and let us all go down with this ship.
> 
> ps: I just wanted to mention that Arya and Gendy totally had a wedding by the weirwood just after the one in the sept (she's a northerner and can't be denied!)


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